


A Familiar Fever

by amoama



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Drabble Day 2020, Drabble Series, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amoama
Summary: Drabble series for Tharkay/Granby - starts with huddling for warmth. For the prompts cold, fever, hoard and breathe.
Relationships: John Granby/Tenzing Tharkay
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	A Familiar Fever

_Cold_

Granby is accustomed to thinking of Tharkay as utterly self-sufficient. It would never occur to Granby to impose unsolicited advice or aid on Tharkay. Even here, at the start of a long night on watch, awaiting news of Lawrence and Temeraire, with Tharkay shivering visibly in front of him, it doesn’t feel right to Granby to offer any respite. 

Iskierka has no such compunction. 

“Tharkay, I don’t see why you must stand there alone, freezing to death in front of us, when this spot by my belly will keep you quite warm.”

Tharkay looks to Granby. 

In welcome, Granby shrugs. 

*

The shield of Iskeirka’s body does wonders for Tharkay’s bones that had begun to ache with the cold. He begins, slowly, to relax, although his hands remain stuffed under his armpits. Beside him Granby is stiff, body angled towards Iskeirka. He’s uncomfortable with their proximity and, from his own observations as well as some loose talk, Tharkay knows why. 

“John,” he says, eliciting a surprised glance for the use of Granby’s forename, “thank you.” 

“Hmm, thank her,” Granby mumbles. 

“Thank you, Iskeirka.”

“Hmm, if you must leave all the sensible ideas to me,” Iskierka replies haughtily. 

Discreetly, both men smile. 

*  
The night passes slowly. They are silent but neither sleep, their eyes remaining on watch for their friends. Granby feels every inch of Tharkay beside him as a cruel tease. With every hour their bodies mould more comfortably together, grow warmer, more familiar. They move together, floating on the tide of Iskierka’s sleep-slow breaths. It is becoming unbearable. 

Tharkay’s hands, searching for balance, come to rest at Granby’s waist. Shocked, Granby finally looks down into Tharkay’s dangerous brown eyes. It’s Tharkay’s turn to shrug, in welcome, “If you want,” he says. 

Granby breathes, as Iskeirka breathes, and acknowledges, he wants.

_Fever_

Granby comes to awareness in his dimly lit bedroom, he doesn’t remember much but he knows he’s been ill. 

“Quick, tell Iskierka he’s waking up,” he hears a low voice bark, “and tell Laurence!” 

Someone runs off. The bed dips as someone sits beside him, takes his hand.

“John?” 

He places the voice now. He opens his eyes to take in Tharkay’s complacent concern. 

“Tenzing?” His voice is horribly weak, “Why are you here?”

“I was reliably informed you asked for me.”

“I did?”

“It was the fever, but Laurence summoned me anyway.”

“Oh,” Granby says, “A fever. I see.”

* 

His illness runs its course. 

He overhears Laurence offering Tharkay the chance to leave, “He’s surely out of danger now and I’m sure he’d not want you to feel obligated.”

“Unless I wanted to,” Tharkay remarks.

“Of course,” Laurence manages.

Tharkay stays, writes messages from Granby’s underused desk, talks with Laurence at Granby’s bedside, drinks and talks to Granby late into the night when Granby’s side hurts too much for sleep. The fever has passed but the wound that caused it takes it’s time healing. 

They settle into a routine and no one mentions why it is Tharkay’s still around. 

*

Eventually Granby feels better. He emerges from his rooms washed, shaved and dressed. He walks towards Iskierka’s pavilion with an arm through Tharkay’s. He still needs a bit of propping up it seems. Heat rushes through him as he remembers Tharkay helping him into his breeches, wrestling the medal-laden jacket over his shoulders; shame, and something else, a more familiar fever. The intimacy of Tharkay’s knife smoothing his jawline had been exquisite. 

Now, trussed and glittering, he presents himself to Iskierka. 

“Well done, Tharkay,” Iskeirka giving approval where it’s due, “Are you not better for being properly looked after, Granby?”

_Hoard_

“I wonder,” said Iskierka, with studied nonchalance, “Would Tharkay like to come see my new egg?” 

\- 

“Tharkay,” Iskierka began, when Tharkay duly appeared to admire the egg, “your estate in the peak district, Perscitia says it is quite large?”

Granby quailed as Tharkay embarked on a description of his estate.

“And of course Temeraire has the parliamentary seat there but that doesn’t confer any type of ownership does it?”

Tharkay agreed it did not. 

“And,” said Iskierka -

“Enough, you incorrigible hoarder!” Granby cried, unable to take any more. 

But Tharkay just smiled and began explaining his tenancy income. 

_Breathe_

Somehow there’s nothing Granby needs to say to Tharkay to be understood. Somewhere, god knows where, Tharkay learnt how to read Granby. He makes it terribly, blissfully easy. Tharkay always visits with a plausible explanation at the ready, but he stays out the way of other officers, and rarely announces his presence. He makes it so Granby can breathe freely and still have this. 

He reads Granby’s needs, his hands on Granby’s body, firm, without fuss. It’s only towards the end that he gets demanding, his hands tighten, his lips betray his urgency. He treats Granby like his greatest reward.


End file.
